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ALF Returns (Crossover)
When you Earthlings think of aliens, you probably think of ugly green creatures who fly around in an elaborate spaceship (like the one I once flew when I crashed into the Tanners' house), invade this world looking for signs of intelligent life, and say to everybody they attempt to enslave or capture that infamous catchphrase: "Take me to your leader." Alternatively, you might think of those motorcycle mice from the planet Mars, who are the real inhabitants of that planet. But here's something you did not know: when the Alien Task Force captured me, I was attempting to make contact with my friends who wanted to make a new Melmac. Thankfully, everything worked out just fine, Col. Gilbert Milfoil was arrested (since he wanted me to die via execution), and word got out about me. Since then, I have been able to visit my friends on the new Melmac, but I'm still living on Earth, because I'm now Melmac's intergalactic ambassador.
Yes. It is me. Gordon Shumway. You know me as ALF, and I am living proof we aliens do exist, but do not exist as those ugly green creatures. It's potrayals like that give all of us aliens (including Throttle, Modo, and Vinnie) a bad name. Why else do you think they took offense upon first discovering there was a pinball machine from 1995 entitled, "Attack from Mars?" In that game, you are a soldier defending the world from said aliens. What they should have done was make a pinball machine based on me instead. I've got my TV shows, some video games, books, you name it. Also, my jokes are actually funny, unlike many of these so-called comedians of today. Think about it, folks. It's called "Diff'rent Strokes." Why isn't it actually a hospital drama? Ha, ha, ha! I kill me! Can I get a rimshot? No? Okay, fine. I'll do it myself. Ba-da-da-dum, shhh! (No; I wasn't vocalizing. I was actually beating on a drum set. I'm a musical jack-of-all-trades. Remember my rock song, "You're the One That's Out of This World?")
You folks didn't get a chance to see it because I'm not at the peak of my popularity I was once at, but I am here to tell you that when I became the intergalactic ambassador that I am, I was able to negotiate with the United States government. Because of this, there is no such thing as the Alien Task Force these days, and I was able to...drum roll, please...get the Tanners back to their rightful home. They're back in the same house they were before. The difference is I am not there to cause them problems.
I have my own house now. I'm living as a celebrity, but I don't go into the limelight because I signed a contract stating I'd behave myself. But I still do stand-up comedy. I play the drums, keyboard, synthesizer, piano, electric and acoustic guitars, bass guitar, and alto and tenor saxophone, all as a one-alien band. (I do all the production myself when I make an album, and they're selling really well; I just have yet to get a Grammy nomination. The humans get all the glory. It makes me want to knock on their doors and shout, "Hello, from the other side!" Ha, ha, ha! I kill me!) Oh. I forgot a few: tambourine and conga drums. Sometimes you have those in rock music.
In any event, having been hiding from the world until that time, I'm at least free to roam it now. Or at least I was, until you Earthlings got yourselves in the pickles you are in now, in the form of this ongoing CNG crisis. Allow me to confirm to the mighty soldiers of the Caticonian Intergalactic Defense Force, whom I wish was around to protect me from the Alien Task Force at the time, that CNG was not the reason Melmac blew up. There was a nuclear war going on, and the new Melmac placed memorials honoring the dead, with soldiers saluting, drums rolling, and trumpets playing the honorable melody you call "Taps." (We may be a weird society that does an absolutely morbid thing, eating cats, but we do have proper military marching bands. I was a drummer in one of those bands; I first learned to play marching music. However, I prefer rock, which is why I played all the instruments I mentioned above. And let's be honest; chicks dig me.)
Now we also have the COVID-19 virus, but CNG is the much larger problem between the two. Both have made me miserable because it reminded me of all those years hiding from the U.S. goverment. As a result, I almost reverted to old habits, saying to myself, "I'll hide in the kitchen. Where's the kitchen?" Then I have to stop and say to myself, "How stupid of me! I don't live with the Tanners anymore." I have my moments, don't I?
Please note that because the world has changed its mind about aliens, I attended Willie's funeral when he passed away a few years ago, but before he did, I was officially able to make amends with him without being, well, myself. I mean, I do occasionally slip into old habits, but I'm not causing problems for anybody but myself. However, I went to the funeral as a favor or the Tanners, and I apologized to Kate for driving her nuts. If anybody was the most angry at me, it was her, and I always viewed her as bossy. As for their two kids, both Lynn and Brian have finished their college education, but I promised to keep their lives secret. I don't actually know what they do for a living, but they are both married and have kids. They're surviving. They've also been fully vaccinated against COVID-19, just to be on the same side. I haven't, but science has shown that it doesn't work on aliens.
I hope this also proves that I'm not just another pretty face that came to life out of your TV as a result of an autistic child with superpowers similar to the mighty Cripto. I've been alive this entire time. I really had a late-night talk show on TV Land, circa 2004. But the television show that tells you the story of my life is just an acting gig, though it is based on my real-life experiences with that family. For example, I didn't actually guest-host for The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson. That was just a show gimmick. Johnny would never have let me done it in real life, but I would have made a better host than Jay Leno. (Don't tell him I said that.)
When I first talked to Cripto, I said, "I bet it saddens you to hear when a game show legend dies. I actually got to sing with Merv Griffin on my talk show."
"It does," the tiger of purity replied, "because I really thought the laws of nature would not apply to Merv. I wanted him to beat the prostate cancer he was fighting. He lost. He never got to see his final creation, Merv Griffin's Crosswords, hit the airwaves."
"I feel for you."
"Thank you."
Anyway, the first time I met the G-52 organization (as a whole, I should say) was the last time they were in Los Angeles. It was after their former enemy, Dr. Alfred Coats Bendraqi, Ph.D., had turned over a new leaf. However, it was before his old EP-2900 Model robots were extinct, because they were originally in the mindset they were still obeying their boss. Given it was CNG powering them up, it should be no surprise that they tried to kill their former boss when they discovered he had turned over a new leaf. That was the final nail in the coffin for him.
The battle took place in the heart of L.A., but how did I get involved? I think I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I had been returning home from doing a stand-up routine, and I had written new jokes, even though I also used an infamous joke I had written from my first ever stand-up routine. (You know, the one about Melmac's library burning down, and they lost both books. And the second one wasn't even colored in yet! Ha, ha, ha! I'm a laugh riot! I crack myself up!) I didn't have a car at the time, though, so I just walked and took public transportation.
"Oh, darn!" I said. "I don't have my ship on me; I could fire projectiles right back at those robot stooges! I'd better start writing my will."
But, as luck would have it, the virtue of might, super strength, and super patriotism we know as the Cat of Steel was fortunate enough to notice me, and his trusty number one was alongside him. Both were returning from a previous victory involving preventing a cruise ship from drowning, when a different enemy mistook it for a Navy submarine and shot a torpedo at it. "Must have been the Russians," I thought to myself. "I don't know." (Cripto dove underwater to intercept the torpedo and sent it back at the enemy ship. Whoever was driving it stole it from New Zealand's military, but to this day, the nationality of the criminal remains unknown. I originally thought it was a Russian submarine, but I cannot jump to conclusions, especially when you consider who is in charge right now: Leonid the Cold Lion. At the time, it was still Vladimir Putin, which is why I thought it was the Russians.)
"Cripto, did you see who that was?" Super C reacted when he and the tiger of purity managed to get to the robots, preventing them from turning me into Hamburger Helper.
"Oh my gosh! That was ALF!"
"ALF?" Super C wasn't familiar with my television show at the time, even though he knew who I was. I'm not bothered. He doesn't watch a lot of television, if any; he has a gym to run. "Oh, wait a minute. That ALF. What's he like?"
"You don't want to know!" Considering my history with the Tanner family, Cripto was wise to reply like that. "Let's just take down the robots!"
"Okay." The two superpowered felines got to work battling the robots, while, behind the scenes, Techno Tiger (T2 for short) and Dr. Bendraqi were working to hack into their systems to assist the heroes. Meanwhile, the canine wonder known as Doughty Dog arrived, having sensed it himself without any prompting, and helped me get to safety.
"Whew; thanks," I said.
"No problem," the heroic border collie smiled. Then he turned serious again. "What happened, though? You look all shook up!"
"Well, bless my soul, what's wrong with me?" I replied, beginning to sing. "I'm itching like a man on a fuzzy tree!" I then laughed, "Ha, ha, ha! I kill me!" I then launched into an Elvis impression and said, "Thank you! Thank you very much!"
"Huh?" Doughty Dog was all confused. He had no idea about my good looks or sense of humor. I guess he wasn't familiar with my television show either.
"Sorry; just trying to lighten the mood here. But in all seriousness, I don't have a car, so I was walking home from doing a stand-up comedy routine about me, my life on the planet Melmac, and what not, when these crazy robots showed up and tried to smash me."
"Life on the planet Melmac?" Then it hit the border collie like a .22. "Oh, wait a minute. Are you Gordon Shumway?"
"I prefer ALF," I said, "but that's okay. That's my real name, so you guessed correctly."
"I sometimes have a bad memory, but it's all coming back to me now."
"And you are?"
"Doughty Dog. I'm a G-52."
"Doughty Dog?"
"Yes."
"With a name like that, I was expecting you to be a Dalmatian. Ha, ha, ha!"
"Yeah; whatever. Let's just get you out of here before those robots come back and stomp at you again."
"Okay, fine. You G-52s are too serious. Lighten up! Live a little!"
I couldn't understand why the G-52s had a tendency to be all business and show no sense of humor, but I reckon the allies they had made up for it. I tend to laugh at my own jokes just like Popeye the Sailor. Yet nobody else was laughing. I'm comedy gold. What is it they don't see in me?
Anyway, the canine superhero did help me to get home safely, and other G-52s were called in to help Super C and Cripto trash the robots into piles of scrap metal, leading one to think they went through a trash compactor. The miracle was that downtown L.A.'s buildings, roads, and traffic lights didn't take any damage; any damage done came from the robots smashing people's cars, but luckily for us, nobody was inside. Because the robots were doing it out of their own prompting, there was no reason to hire an attorney; it wasn't Dr. Bendraqi's fault. It wasn't anybody's fault but the robots.
Once all the robots were put out of commission for good, investigators in the C.I.D.F. were able to determine that the robots were wanting to destroy any and every television and film studio used for show biz. No more game shows. No more movies. No more tabloid talk shows, soap operas, police procedural dramas, or reruns of my show, "Green Acres," or "Police Squad!" (I got a kick out of "Police Squad!" It's so darn funny if you're able to keep up with the humor and all the sight-gags.)
The other G-52s then caught up with Doughty Dog, and all of them got to know me a bit better. While they still didn't laugh at my jokes, at least they knew it was a punchline. Eventually they caught on part of my sense of humor was habitually quoting song lyrics or lines out of films or television. Sometimes they'd add to it, although without knowing it. I answered every question they had about Melmac, but because Super C had never seen aliens before apart from the Biker Mice from Mars, he unconsciously quoted the famous line from the movie Airplane!: "Surely you can't be serious!"
So, naturally, I said, "I am serious. And don't call me Shirley!" (Ha, ha, ha!)
Super C and Doughty Dog looked at each other, then shrugged their shoulders and decided it was best to go along with my charade, and not rain on my parade.
Later that night, Super C had me take the oath of the G-52 ally while the musical gang of rats you Earthlings know as Drumbums played background music, concluding with the national anthem, and me singing the lyrics along with the band. I gave the military salute as I sang. I may be Melmacian by birth, but I was gradually becoming more and more American. It doesn't help that the new Melmac doesn't want me back there anyways, because I gradually have become the worst kind of Melmacian a Melmacian can become: a cat lover. Why? I made a promise to the Tanners that I would not eat cats. After their old cat died, they got a new one, and I took quite fondly to it. Such an act would have me excommunicated on Melmac. Now I was adding other cats to that list, but there's no way a Melmacian could eat a bipedal cat if they wanted.
It's quite morbid when you Earthlings think about it, but given a Melmacian's anatomy, culture, and ways of life, with our system valuing simple things as grass as really expensive property, and things that are expensive to you as really cheap to us (i.e. jewelery), it just made sense to you if you were an alien like me.
Soon, reruns of my show, and the two animated spin-offs that came with it were popping up again on television, and being sold on DVD or Blu-Ray, with me taking an appropriate percentage of the profits. I would use this money, plus anything else I earned, to pay back the Tanners for all the damages I caused before, and all the debts they got into as a result. This included Willie's funeral. This also included money from the lottery. Even though I didn't enter, I did help expose a fraud scheme connected to it (though I'll go into detail about that on a different day), and the authorites in charge of Powerball decided the fair thing to do was to roll over the jackpot, but simultaneously pay me the $277 million they were offering. The crooks involved in the scandal have been in prison ever since, and they're not coming back out.
"You didn't have to pay us back like this," Kate said, feeling touched by my generosity (and it was about time she didn't lose her temper with me), "but we still appreciate it. The fact you got us back into the United States, and the fact there is no Alien Task Force now, was good enough for us. I'm amazed we even got the same house back, although it's an empty nest now. Both my kids are married and they moved out."
"I insisted on doing so," I said, "because I kept having bad conscience about it day after day, and I wanted my conscience to stop bothering me about it, and stop giving me bad dreams about it night after night. I felt this was the best way of doing that. How much of the $277 million will cover that?"
"I don't think the amount of debt we got into because of you ever reached $1 million." Kate took a calculator and did some math, adjusting for inflation. "But when you adjust for inflation, the exact amount does total $13,493,400."
"Still, it's enough to upset me. How about I boost it to $25 million?"
"Works for me."
"I plan on giving the rest to charity, except for another $50 million; half goes to Lynn, and half goes to Brian. Use it for your kids' or grandkids' college funds, or whatever the do if they don't go to college."
"I can do that," said Brian.
"Yes; thank you so much," Lynn smiled. "I think at least one of my kids is instead going to a trade school. He has an interest in welding."
"Not for the faint of heart."
"No."
After all the payments were made and the bank balances boosted, I introduced the Tanners to the G-52s, and I played my famous rock video I made for the superhero team. Cripto got a kick out of it because he himself is the frontman for Furry Fury, who took inspiration from the sound you get out of 80s rock music. The difference is they don't use flashy costumes; it's all about the music and the talent they have. They don't need the looks to sell.
It was a good night for all of us, and for me personally, it was the beginning of a new chapter in my life. I'm not the same ALF I was before, but it was for the better, and it was to distinguish the real me from the me on TV. Check that stuff out, though; it's funny, and it beats all the garbage that is clogging up television today outside of WBC; that's the one network that gets it right.
It might also interest you to know that not long after he took the Oath of Office, President Zanicchi invited all of us to the White House, and surprised us when he awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom to the whole Tanner family. Why? He considered them to be the most instrumental factors in exposing the corruption of the Alien Task Force, and the troubles they went to in order to protect me from the force were noteworthy on their own terms. He also wanted them to feel it was worth their while, because there were times where they felt their own lives were at risk if word got out about me.
"We really didn't know what would happen," Willie said to Leo. "Instead of being imprisoned, the relocation program of the Alien Task Force had us move to Iceland. Iceland isn't a bad country, but we got homesick."
"I believe that," Leo replied. "There's no reason for you to get booted out of the country like that. But this medal goes to all four of you."
Then Leo and his administration took me and the Tanners on a tour of the White House. He took note to show me the music room because he discovered I was a musician, but since most of what I did as a one-alien band was rock music, my guitar solo I had in mind (or drum solo) wasn't going to work. So I just demonstrated a few tunes I knew on the keyboards, and then we moved on.
I thank you all for your time. I'll see you soon, and don't let your kids eat any cats or blow up the kitchen. Bye, now.
THE END
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ALF Returns (Crossover)
When you Earthlings think of aliens, you probably think of ugly green creatures who fly around in an elaborate spaceship (like the one I once flew when I crashed into the Tanners' house), invade this world looking for signs of intelligent life, and say to everybody they attempt to enslave or capture that infamous catchphrase: "Take me to your leader." Alternatively, you might think of those motorcycle mice from the planet Mars, who are the real inhabitants of that planet. But here's something you did not know: when the Alien Task Force captured me, I was attempting to make contact with my friends who wanted to make a new Melmac. Thankfully, everything worked out just fine, Col. Gilbert Milfoil was arrested (since he wanted me to die via execution), and word got out about me. Since then, I have been able to visit my friends on the new Melmac, but I'm still living on Earth, because I'm now Melmac's intergalactic ambassador.
Yes. It is me. Gordon Shumway. You know me as ALF, and I am living proof we aliens do exist, but do not exist as those ugly green creatures. It's potrayals like that give all of us aliens (including Throttle, Modo, and Vinnie) a bad name. Why else do you think they took offense upon first discovering there was a pinball machine from 1995 entitled, "Attack from Mars?" In that game, you are a soldier defending the world from said aliens. What they should have done was make a pinball machine based on me instead. I've got my TV shows, some video games, books, you name it. Also, my jokes are actually funny, unlike many of these so-called comedians of today. Think about it, folks. It's called "Diff'rent Strokes." Why isn't it actually a hospital drama? Ha, ha, ha! I kill me! Can I get a rimshot? No? Okay, fine. I'll do it myself. Ba-da-da-dum, shhh! (No; I wasn't vocalizing. I was actually beating on a drum set. I'm a musical jack-of-all-trades. Remember my rock song, "You're the One That's Out of This World?")
You folks didn't get a chance to see it because I'm not at the peak of my popularity I was once at, but I am here to tell you that when I became the intergalactic ambassador that I am, I was able to negotiate with the United States government. Because of this, there is no such thing as the Alien Task Force these days, and I was able to...drum roll, please...get the Tanners back to their rightful home. They're back in the same house they were before. The difference is I am not there to cause them problems.
I have my own house now. I'm living as a celebrity, but I don't go into the limelight because I signed a contract stating I'd behave myself. But I still do stand-up comedy. I play the drums, keyboard, synthesizer, piano, electric and acoustic guitars, bass guitar, and alto and tenor saxophone, all as a one-alien band. (I do all the production myself when I make an album, and they're selling really well; I just have yet to get a Grammy nomination. The humans get all the glory. It makes me want to knock on their doors and shout, "Hello, from the other side!" Ha, ha, ha! I kill me!) Oh. I forgot a few: tambourine and conga drums. Sometimes you have those in rock music.
In any event, having been hiding from the world until that time, I'm at least free to roam it now. Or at least I was, until you Earthlings got yourselves in the pickles you are in now, in the form of this ongoing CNG crisis. Allow me to confirm to the mighty soldiers of the Caticonian Intergalactic Defense Force, whom I wish was around to protect me from the Alien Task Force at the time, that CNG was not the reason Melmac blew up. There was a nuclear war going on, and the new Melmac placed memorials honoring the dead, with soldiers saluting, drums rolling, and trumpets playing the honorable melody you call "Taps." (We may be a weird society that does an absolutely morbid thing, eating cats, but we do have proper military marching bands. I was a drummer in one of those bands; I first learned to play marching music. However, I prefer rock, which is why I played all the instruments I mentioned above. And let's be honest; chicks dig me.)
Now we also have the COVID-19 virus, but CNG is the much larger problem between the two. Both have made me miserable because it reminded me of all those years hiding from the U.S. goverment. As a result, I almost reverted to old habits, saying to myself, "I'll hide in the kitchen. Where's the kitchen?" Then I have to stop and say to myself, "How stupid of me! I don't live with the Tanners anymore." I have my moments, don't I?
Please note that because the world has changed its mind about aliens, I attended Willie's funeral when he passed away a few years ago, but before he did, I was officially able to make amends with him without being, well, myself. I mean, I do occasionally slip into old habits, but I'm not causing problems for anybody but myself. However, I went to the funeral as a favor or the Tanners, and I apologized to Kate for driving her nuts. If anybody was the most angry at me, it was her, and I always viewed her as bossy. As for their two kids, both Lynn and Brian have finished their college education, but I promised to keep their lives secret. I don't actually know what they do for a living, but they are both married and have kids. They're surviving. They've also been fully vaccinated against COVID-19, just to be on the same side. I haven't, but science has shown that it doesn't work on aliens.
I hope this also proves that I'm not just another pretty face that came to life out of your TV as a result of an autistic child with superpowers similar to the mighty Cripto. I've been alive this entire time. I really had a late-night talk show on TV Land, circa 2004. But the television show that tells you the story of my life is just an acting gig, though it is based on my real-life experiences with that family. For example, I didn't actually guest-host for The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson. That was just a show gimmick. Johnny would never have let me done it in real life, but I would have made a better host than Jay Leno. (Don't tell him I said that.)
When I first talked to Cripto, I said, "I bet it saddens you to hear when a game show legend dies. I actually got to sing with Merv Griffin on my talk show."
"It does," the tiger of purity replied, "because I really thought the laws of nature would not apply to Merv. I wanted him to beat the prostate cancer he was fighting. He lost. He never got to see his final creation, Merv Griffin's Crosswords, hit the airwaves."
"I feel for you."
"Thank you."
Anyway, the first time I met the G-52 organization (as a whole, I should say) was the last time they were in Los Angeles. It was after their former enemy, Dr. Alfred Coats Bendraqi, Ph.D., had turned over a new leaf. However, it was before his old EP-2900 Model robots were extinct, because they were originally in the mindset they were still obeying their boss. Given it was CNG powering them up, it should be no surprise that they tried to kill their former boss when they discovered he had turned over a new leaf. That was the final nail in the coffin for him.
The battle took place in the heart of L.A., but how did I get involved? I think I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I had been returning home from doing a stand-up routine, and I had written new jokes, even though I also used an infamous joke I had written from my first ever stand-up routine. (You know, the one about Melmac's library burning down, and they lost both books. And the second one wasn't even colored in yet! Ha, ha, ha! I'm a laugh riot! I crack myself up!) I didn't have a car at the time, though, so I just walked and took public transportation.
"Oh, darn!" I said. "I don't have my ship on me; I could fire projectiles right back at those robot stooges! I'd better start writing my will."
But, as luck would have it, the virtue of might, super strength, and super patriotism we know as the Cat of Steel was fortunate enough to notice me, and his trusty number one was alongside him. Both were returning from a previous victory involving preventing a cruise ship from drowning, when a different enemy mistook it for a Navy submarine and shot a torpedo at it. "Must have been the Russians," I thought to myself. "I don't know." (Cripto dove underwater to intercept the torpedo and sent it back at the enemy ship. Whoever was driving it stole it from New Zealand's military, but to this day, the nationality of the criminal remains unknown. I originally thought it was a Russian submarine, but I cannot jump to conclusions, especially when you consider who is in charge right now: Leonid the Cold Lion. At the time, it was still Vladimir Putin, which is why I thought it was the Russians.)
"Cripto, did you see who that was?" Super C reacted when he and the tiger of purity managed to get to the robots, preventing them from turning me into Hamburger Helper.
"Oh my gosh! That was ALF!"
"ALF?" Super C wasn't familiar with my television show at the time, even though he knew who I was. I'm not bothered. He doesn't watch a lot of television, if any; he has a gym to run. "Oh, wait a minute. That ALF. What's he like?"
"You don't want to know!" Considering my history with the Tanner family, Cripto was wise to reply like that. "Let's just take down the robots!"
"Okay." The two superpowered felines got to work battling the robots, while, behind the scenes, Techno Tiger (T2 for short) and Dr. Bendraqi were working to hack into their systems to assist the heroes. Meanwhile, the canine wonder known as Doughty Dog arrived, having sensed it himself without any prompting, and helped me get to safety.
"Whew; thanks," I said.
"No problem," the heroic border collie smiled. Then he turned serious again. "What happened, though? You look all shook up!"
"Well, bless my soul, what's wrong with me?" I replied, beginning to sing. "I'm itching like a man on a fuzzy tree!" I then laughed, "Ha, ha, ha! I kill me!" I then launched into an Elvis impression and said, "Thank you! Thank you very much!"
"Huh?" Doughty Dog was all confused. He had no idea about my good looks or sense of humor. I guess he wasn't familiar with my television show either.
"Sorry; just trying to lighten the mood here. But in all seriousness, I don't have a car, so I was walking home from doing a stand-up comedy routine about me, my life on the planet Melmac, and what not, when these crazy robots showed up and tried to smash me."
"Life on the planet Melmac?" Then it hit the border collie like a .22. "Oh, wait a minute. Are you Gordon Shumway?"
"I prefer ALF," I said, "but that's okay. That's my real name, so you guessed correctly."
"I sometimes have a bad memory, but it's all coming back to me now."
"And you are?"
"Doughty Dog. I'm a G-52."
"Doughty Dog?"
"Yes."
"With a name like that, I was expecting you to be a Dalmatian. Ha, ha, ha!"
"Yeah; whatever. Let's just get you out of here before those robots come back and stomp at you again."
"Okay, fine. You G-52s are too serious. Lighten up! Live a little!"
I couldn't understand why the G-52s had a tendency to be all business and show no sense of humor, but I reckon the allies they had made up for it. I tend to laugh at my own jokes just like Popeye the Sailor. Yet nobody else was laughing. I'm comedy gold. What is it they don't see in me?
Anyway, the canine superhero did help me to get home safely, and other G-52s were called in to help Super C and Cripto trash the robots into piles of scrap metal, leading one to think they went through a trash compactor. The miracle was that downtown L.A.'s buildings, roads, and traffic lights didn't take any damage; any damage done came from the robots smashing people's cars, but luckily for us, nobody was inside. Because the robots were doing it out of their own prompting, there was no reason to hire an attorney; it wasn't Dr. Bendraqi's fault. It wasn't anybody's fault but the robots.
Once all the robots were put out of commission for good, investigators in the C.I.D.F. were able to determine that the robots were wanting to destroy any and every television and film studio used for show biz. No more game shows. No more movies. No more tabloid talk shows, soap operas, police procedural dramas, or reruns of my show, "Green Acres," or "Police Squad!" (I got a kick out of "Police Squad!" It's so darn funny if you're able to keep up with the humor and all the sight-gags.)
The other G-52s then caught up with Doughty Dog, and all of them got to know me a bit better. While they still didn't laugh at my jokes, at least they knew it was a punchline. Eventually they caught on part of my sense of humor was habitually quoting song lyrics or lines out of films or television. Sometimes they'd add to it, although without knowing it. I answered every question they had about Melmac, but because Super C had never seen aliens before apart from the Biker Mice from Mars, he unconsciously quoted the famous line from the movie Airplane!: "Surely you can't be serious!"
So, naturally, I said, "I am serious. And don't call me Shirley!" (Ha, ha, ha!)
Super C and Doughty Dog looked at each other, then shrugged their shoulders and decided it was best to go along with my charade, and not rain on my parade.
Later that night, Super C had me take the oath of the G-52 ally while the musical gang of rats you Earthlings know as Drumbums played background music, concluding with the national anthem, and me singing the lyrics along with the band. I gave the military salute as I sang. I may be Melmacian by birth, but I was gradually becoming more and more American. It doesn't help that the new Melmac doesn't want me back there anyways, because I gradually have become the worst kind of Melmacian a Melmacian can become: a cat lover. Why? I made a promise to the Tanners that I would not eat cats. After their old cat died, they got a new one, and I took quite fondly to it. Such an act would have me excommunicated on Melmac. Now I was adding other cats to that list, but there's no way a Melmacian could eat a bipedal cat if they wanted.
It's quite morbid when you Earthlings think about it, but given a Melmacian's anatomy, culture, and ways of life, with our system valuing simple things as grass as really expensive property, and things that are expensive to you as really cheap to us (i.e. jewelery), it just made sense to you if you were an alien like me.
Soon, reruns of my show, and the two animated spin-offs that came with it were popping up again on television, and being sold on DVD or Blu-Ray, with me taking an appropriate percentage of the profits. I would use this money, plus anything else I earned, to pay back the Tanners for all the damages I caused before, and all the debts they got into as a result. This included Willie's funeral. This also included money from the lottery. Even though I didn't enter, I did help expose a fraud scheme connected to it (though I'll go into detail about that on a different day), and the authorites in charge of Powerball decided the fair thing to do was to roll over the jackpot, but simultaneously pay me the $277 million they were offering. The crooks involved in the scandal have been in prison ever since, and they're not coming back out.
"You didn't have to pay us back like this," Kate said, feeling touched by my generosity (and it was about time she didn't lose her temper with me), "but we still appreciate it. The fact you got us back into the United States, and the fact there is no Alien Task Force now, was good enough for us. I'm amazed we even got the same house back, although it's an empty nest now. Both my kids are married and they moved out."
"I insisted on doing so," I said, "because I kept having bad conscience about it day after day, and I wanted my conscience to stop bothering me about it, and stop giving me bad dreams about it night after night. I felt this was the best way of doing that. How much of the $277 million will cover that?"
"I don't think the amount of debt we got into because of you ever reached $1 million." Kate took a calculator and did some math, adjusting for inflation. "But when you adjust for inflation, the exact amount does total $13,493,400."
"Still, it's enough to upset me. How about I boost it to $25 million?"
"Works for me."
"I plan on giving the rest to charity, except for another $50 million; half goes to Lynn, and half goes to Brian. Use it for your kids' or grandkids' college funds, or whatever the do if they don't go to college."
"I can do that," said Brian.
"Yes; thank you so much," Lynn smiled. "I think at least one of my kids is instead going to a trade school. He has an interest in welding."
"Not for the faint of heart."
"No."
After all the payments were made and the bank balances boosted, I introduced the Tanners to the G-52s, and I played my famous rock video I made for the superhero team. Cripto got a kick out of it because he himself is the frontman for Furry Fury, who took inspiration from the sound you get out of 80s rock music. The difference is they don't use flashy costumes; it's all about the music and the talent they have. They don't need the looks to sell.
It was a good night for all of us, and for me personally, it was the beginning of a new chapter in my life. I'm not the same ALF I was before, but it was for the better, and it was to distinguish the real me from the me on TV. Check that stuff out, though; it's funny, and it beats all the garbage that is clogging up television today outside of WBC; that's the one network that gets it right.
It might also interest you to know that not long after he took the Oath of Office, President Zanicchi invited all of us to the White House, and surprised us when he awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom to the whole Tanner family. Why? He considered them to be the most instrumental factors in exposing the corruption of the Alien Task Force, and the troubles they went to in order to protect me from the force were noteworthy on their own terms. He also wanted them to feel it was worth their while, because there were times where they felt their own lives were at risk if word got out about me.
"We really didn't know what would happen," Willie said to Leo. "Instead of being imprisoned, the relocation program of the Alien Task Force had us move to Iceland. Iceland isn't a bad country, but we got homesick."
"I believe that," Leo replied. "There's no reason for you to get booted out of the country like that. But this medal goes to all four of you."
Then Leo and his administration took me and the Tanners on a tour of the White House. He took note to show me the music room because he discovered I was a musician, but since most of what I did as a one-alien band was rock music, my guitar solo I had in mind (or drum solo) wasn't going to work. So I just demonstrated a few tunes I knew on the keyboards, and then we moved on.
I thank you all for your time. I'll see you soon, and don't let your kids eat any cats or blow up the kitchen. Bye, now.
THE END
Flashback story. ALF (Gordon Shumway) comments on what's been happening with him lately, from reconciling with the Tanners to getting caught in the middle of a G-52 fight against Bendraqi's old robots. The story is told from the alien's perspective.
EDITOR'S NOTE: I mixed elements of the show with the real world, so that instead of being a character brought to life by someone's superpowers, Melmacians had already existed in real life, and ALF really crashed into our real world and became an overnight superstar. Thus, I'm acting as if the Tanner family is a real family. Willie's funeral references the real actor, Max Wright, who passed away in 2019.
G-52s, C.I.D.F., etc., © me and me alone
ALF © Alien Productions and everybody else who owns the rights, and created by Paul Fusco
Biker Mice from Mars © Rick Ungar (creator), Brentwood Television Funnies, and everybody else who owns the rights
All other television, film, or music referenced belongs to everybody who owns the rights; I own nothing
ALF being a rock star: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EY3rlYHOTk4
EDITOR'S NOTE: I mixed elements of the show with the real world, so that instead of being a character brought to life by someone's superpowers, Melmacians had already existed in real life, and ALF really crashed into our real world and became an overnight superstar. Thus, I'm acting as if the Tanner family is a real family. Willie's funeral references the real actor, Max Wright, who passed away in 2019.
G-52s, C.I.D.F., etc., © me and me alone
ALF © Alien Productions and everybody else who owns the rights, and created by Paul Fusco
Biker Mice from Mars © Rick Ungar (creator), Brentwood Television Funnies, and everybody else who owns the rights
All other television, film, or music referenced belongs to everybody who owns the rights; I own nothing
ALF being a rock star: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EY3rlYHOTk4
Category Story / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Gender Any
Size 120 x 120px
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